


Closed Circuit

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Working Man Bangtan [4]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Elevator Sex, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Name-Calling, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Rough Sex, Smoking, Smut, Spanking, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-08-01 03:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16277078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: After years of paying your dues with smaller jobs, you finally get the chance at a solo assignment to rewire a large corporate building. The excitement quickly fades on the first day, however, when you discover the general contractor gave the same job to the electrician who’s been your rival since trade school.Excerpt:“I’m hoping you’ll see you’re in over your head with this one and quit so Murph will hire someone who won’t end up fried on a hot wire,” Yoongi said, smirking. “I’ve cleaned up after you before. I’d hate to have to do it again.”You glared at him, hoping lasers would burst from your eyes and scorch his dark hair. “That job wasn’t a cleanup. I hadn’t even touched that part of the building before you stole my contract and you know it!”





	Closed Circuit

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
> 
> Genre: Smut
> 
> Warnings: Electrician!Yoongi, Electrician!Reader, enemies to lovers, workplace hookup, sexual themes, rough sex, elevator sex, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, verbal degradation, dirty talk, smoking, profanity
> 
> A/N: I think anyone weak for Yoongi’s hands or him licking...let’s call it “substances”...off his fingers may pass out.

It was silly to buy a new thermos over it, but you were celebrating: your first solo contract at a large-scale corporate building. The call came two weeks ago after a previously negotiated job fell through and you had to admit, it felt like the universe was looking out for you this time. A job is lost, then a better one comes along. It sounded like the "good karma" hippie bullshit your aunt always raved about, but you never really believed it until the general contractor told you the number of floors and the projected square footage of office space in dire need of rewiring.

Efforts to reclaim early twentieth century buildings in your small city presented a myriad of risks and the building inspectors weren't having it; the entire building needed to be brought up to code. You couldn't be happier to take the job. It was certainly safer than passing off the old knob and tube setup as something that would meet current safety and performance standards. The contract was sure to be a secure one, ensuring your small business would remain in the black through the end of the month, at least. With any luck, this old building would be your way into a new stream of customers who may need electrical maintenance later down the road. Once you gained their trust by turning over a well-lit building, you could be waist-deep in jobs. You might even have to hire someone to help you.

The corners of your lips perked up and you gripped your steering wheel a little tighter, reminding yourself not to get too excited. You had worked plenty of jobs before this one and knew they weren’t always what they seemed to be on the surface. Hopefully, the customer would pay as soon as each phase was complete and not string you or the general contractor along for ninety days like your last customer had.

It was fair to say you were optimistic for the job to begin, all things considered. At least, that was true up until you turned into the work site’s parking lot and found his truck there.

“Min Yoongi,” you grumbled, the steering wheel squeaking under your clenched fists. “Son of a bitch!”

The large door of his extended crew cab opened with a rushed swing. His tan work boots hit the pavement as he stared down your truck with a look that blended disbelief and disgust. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to see you, and that made two of you.

You jerked your parking brake in anger as the searing heat of competitive rage ignited your cheeks. “I’m not losing this job,” you hissed, already struggling to convince yourself of it.

The door of your truck closed with a harsh slam and you approached him, internally screaming at your feet to keep going no matter how nauseous you felt. Before you could get a word out, he spoke first.

“May I help you, ___?” He cocked his head, willing his tone to display its maximum annoyance.

“I think it’s ‘May I help you, Yoongi,’” you countered, crossing your arms. “This is  _my_  job.”

Your declaration made him scoff. “Like hell it is. Murphy called me two days ago. Didn’t say shit about another sub-contractor.”

“Well, he called me two weeks ago and said I was going to rewire the whole building. I was here first.”

It felt childish to stake a claim with a line that was essentially the same as “finders, keepers,” but you weren’t prepared to surrender the job to the man who had been your fiercest competitor for the last eight years–ever since trade school.

“Maybe Murphy came to his senses and decided to hire a professional,” Yoongi commented. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone didn’t have the balls to fire you.”

He was right, and you hated him for it. Your second job post-certification had been to fix a fuse box in a machine shop. It should have been an easy gig, except for the fact the wiring had been from the Cold War and in all your excitement, you botched the price negotiation and quoted yourself too low. When you tried to clear up the miscommunication and explain the job was more extensive than you first quoted, the owner threw his hands up and shook his head. You assumed it was just frustration and that he needed a chance to cool off, but then his wife showed up three hours later and asked why you were still there.

And that was the first job Min Yoongi stole from you.

“Look, I’ve worked with Murphy before and did good work for him. If I was getting replaced, he’d tell me,” you argued.

Yoongi grumbled and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his pants. “Let’s give him a call, then. I’m not burning any more daylight out here when you can be about your merry way fixing toasters.”

 _What a prick_. You rolled your eyes. “Fine, but put him on speaker.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” He smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

“Fuck no, I don’t.”

He nodded his head dismissively, pressing his finger to the screen to switch the sound to the speaker setting. After two rings, a gruff voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Murphy, good morning,” Yoongi started. “We need to talk–”

“You already at the site?”

“Yeah, and ___’s here too.” His eyes glanced at yours before he nodded, signaling for you to join the conversation.

“Hi, Murphy,” you greeted, barely able to recognize your voice.

Yoongi must have picked up on your anxious feelings, as he placed a hand on the side of his waist and began to pace back and forth. Witnessing the confidence oozing from his body made you seethe with envy. You were just as capable of an electrician as he was, so why was he getting under your skin?

“You two playing nice?” Murphy inquired, his chuckles coming through the speaker.

Yoongi’s tone grew firm. “Right now, we don’t know who’s wiring the building, Murph.” You at least agreed with him on that point.

“Sit tight, I’m almost there.”

“Great.” Yoongi ended the call and tucked the phone back into his pocket. “Hey, you’re not going to cry when you lose this job, are you?”

You frowned, unamused by the jab. “Nope, I’m not losing this job. You are.”

“I’m not losing anything,” he dismissed with a wave. “He called me last. I’m the replacement.”

He had a point. Why would Murphy call him in so close to the start of a job? If you were going to be replaced, shouldn’t he at least give you the chance to mess up first? No, you weren’t going to fuck this up and give Yoongi the satisfaction.

You pointed your finger toward your feet. “We need to wait for Murphy and then we’ll see. No one called me to cancel the contract.” Standing still and frowning at him, you were too pissed to enjoy the morning sunlight warming your face.

Yoongi smiled at your expression, confident it would only be a matter of time before you were let go from the job. He began to whistle to himself and opened the back of his truck to review the contents of his tool bag. It was regrettable that you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same.

After a couple minutes of dreaded silence, Murphy’s truck arrived. Your stomach churned with uncertainty, but you were resolved to hide those feelings from your competitor, who had already wrapped his toolbelt around his waist with an air of superiority.

Yoongi approached the general contractor first, extending his hand in welcome. “Morning!”

“Morning,” the portly man reciprocated, shaking his hand. “I’m glad you’re both here. I’ve been swamped with other jobs and haven’t had the chance to explain what’s going on here.”

“What  _is_  going on, exactly?” you asked, too irritated to greet him properly. “Am I still on this job?”

“You both are, unless you don’t want it anymore. The owner called me last week and sped up the deadline and now I have to deliver much faster than usual or they’ll pull the contract.”

“How much faster?” Yoongi raised his eyebrows. He didn’t look pleased by the change in timeline on such short notice. It often spelled trouble. If a subcontractor couldn’t meet a deadline, then it opened the opportunity for the customer to try to renegotiate how much they would be willing to pay for completed work. It was a shady practice to save money, but one you both knew was commonplace.

“Electrical is two weeks,” Murphy answered quietly. “I have to get the installers in after that.”

Yoongi pointed his finger accusingly at the large building behind you. “ _That_  will take more than two weeks. You’re busting my balls right now.”

“He’s right,” you agreed. “The last inspection was two decades ago; the building’s been vacant for years. You can’t just ‘reclaim’ something that old and expect all that to shake out without problems. Did you tell the customer that the entire building’s wiring would have to be replaced?”

Murphy’s shoulders slumped. “I did, but these guys don’t know shit about that. They’re  _businessmen_ ,” he stressed with an eye roll. “Look, I complained already. I know neither of you wanted to work like this, but this is what I’ve got. I got more money to sweeten the pot, and that’s about it. I knew I owed you a job, ___, from last month. And Yoongi, you’ve saved my ass before. I can’t use my own guys for this one, or I would. I have three other sites going at the same time.”

“I don’t know if I can pull extra hours right now. I had side gigs scheduled,” Yoongi said with a frown. “And I don’t know if two can pull this one off, Murph. Did you call McLaren? He’s more experienced with old buildings than this one here.” He nudged his head in your direction.

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, deeply offended by his statement. “I can rewire as good as you and I don’t have a problem working late. I’ll work weekends too, as long as I’m paid.”

“You’ll be paid in phases, as we agreed.” Murphy nodded.

“Besides,” you continued, turning to Yoongi with a harsh twist of your nose, “McLaren’s in the hospital right now.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Welder blew on him, fucked his hand up,” you recounted, frowning.

“Shit,” Yoongi and Murphy spoke at the same time. It was well-known that accidents could occur on a job, but it was sobering whenever they happened to someone you all knew and worked with. McLaren had been repairing machines for over thirty years, and even he wasn’t immune to the dangers.

A pause fell over the three of you, then Yoongi cleared his throat. “Let me make some calls, move some jobs around, and I’ll work late too. But you owe me, Murph. You know that building is still running knob and tube.”

“You’ll owe  _both_ of us,” you corrected. “Who knows what’s going to be in there.”

“You guys are saving my ass,” Murphy sighed in relief. “I’ll keep you both at the top of the list for the next job I have, promise.”

* * *

 

“So, I assume you don’t want to work on the same floor, right?” Yoongi asked.

You stood next to him at the front door of the building with your tool bag in hand. “I would prefer a setup where we don’t see each other much, yes.”

“Probably for the best,” he commented with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll cringe if you’re still fixing lights like you did in school.”

The fist which gripped your tool bag tightened in anger. “Not everyone learns the same way. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

Yoongi pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “You do know that if you mess this job up, it’ll be both our asses. Daddy’s not going to be able to save you on this one. The shit’s old; it’s dangerous. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the insulation is gone.”

“It probably is, which is why it’s all getting replaced,” you reminded him in an agitated tone. “I know about hot wires. I’m not a dumbass.”

“Just inexperienced,” he countered. “And privileged.”

 _Of course_ , you fumed. Over half of the electricians in the business staunchly believed the only reason you became one was because your father had been servicing the area for nearly forty years. His business wasn’t a booming success, but he had done well for himself by living modestly and making good decisions. When he retired, he left the business to you, and ever since it was like the silver spoon had been welded against the roof of your mouth. No one wanted to believe that a woman actually wanted to be an electrician.

“No,” you fired back. “I’ve earned this job and I know what I’m doing. You’re just pissed that I had a better year than you last year. I saw you eyeing my truck when I pulled up.”

“Did your dad buy it for you, or was it from fixing toasters?”

“Why are you trying to start shit with me? You think I don’t know how to do anything–like I don’t know I can get electrocuted on this job. You’re an asshole!”

“I’m hoping you’ll see you’re in over your head with this one and quit so Murph will hire someone who won’t end up fried on a hot wire,” Yoongi said, smirking. “I’ve cleaned up after you before. I’d hate to have to do it again.”

You glared at him, hoping lasers would burst from your eyes and scorch his dark hair. “That job wasn’t a cleanup. I hadn’t even touched that part of the building before you stole my contract and you know it!”

He snickered, letting his laughter speak for him rather than take a chance on a rebuttal. It was clear he was enjoying pissing you off, but you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand.

“Tell you what,” you said, switching gears in the conversation. “Let’s flip for it. Let fate decide who gets what half. Heads will get the upper floors, tails will get the bottom floors. Deal?”

“Fine,” he huffed, pulling a bit of loose change from his pocket. “I’ll flip for it.”

He fished out a quarter and launched it in the air with a spring of his thumb. He caught it with his right hand and smacked it against his left fist. “Heads, you get the upper five floors. Tails, lower five.”

“Let’s see it.”

His hand peeled away from his fist to reveal the coin had landed on heads, assigning you to the top five floors of the building.

“Heads,” he stated with indifference. “I’ll take the first five floors.”

It wasn’t the choice you wanted because you knew the upper floors would be stuffy without air conditioning. They would smell like old, stale cardboard, or worse. But you couldn’t reveal your disappointment with your competitor. He was waiting for you to have a negative reaction to reinforce his already substandard opinion of you.

“Great,” you chirped with a feigned air of joy. “Well, the breakroom is on the sixth floor. I hope my incompetent ass will be able to get to those microwaves before it’s time for lunch. I’d hate for your lunch to be cold.”

“Wait,” he stalled. “There aren’t any until the sixth floor?”

“Yes, did you not read the specs for the building before starting the job?” You grinned wickedly. “That doesn’t sound very professional, Yoongi.”

His face contorted in disbelief. “So, you’re going to hold the microwaves hostage because you don’t like me?”

“No, I’m holding them hostage because you said I was privileged and can only fix toasters. I don’t actually know you well enough to form a personal opinion. We never paired up in school, remember?”

“I never paired up with anyone,” he replied. “And you wouldn’t have paired up with me anyway, because you were too busy pairing up with what’s-his-face all the time. Brody? Brock? What was his name?”

“Bryce,” you recalled in irritation. Bryce was one of several mistakes you made in trade school. You had just moved out of your parents’ house and had more thirst than common sense, and Bryce was overly confident and eager to oblige. Too bad he never learned where the clit was before you dropped him. It was truly a shame to be so attractive, yet dumb as a brick when it came to fundamentals of human pleasure.

“Yeah, Bryce.” Yoongi elongated the pronunciation with a hiss. “Pretty boy.”

“Is that what this is all about?” you pressed, raising your voice. “You’re giving me shit now because I wasn’t on your dick back in the day? That’s pathetic. I hope you enjoy cold lunches because that’s what you’re going to have today.”

Yoongi laughed, his eyes dark with revenge. “If you’re not going to wire the break room, then I’m not fixing the elevator. Enjoy walking those stairs, honey.”

“Fine!” You stiffened your shoulders, feeling your face heat up once more. “My ass will look amazing then!”

* * *

 

The work on the sixth floor solidified your concern the building would take forever to finish. As Yoongi predicted, a lot of the insulation was indeed gone, eaten away by time to leave wires exposed and in need of replacing. Thankfully, you had prepared for such a job, knowing the building was well past its prime and hadn’t been inspected properly for several years.

What you weren’t expecting was for time to pass by so quickly that first day. Lunchtime arrived much sooner than you had anticipated, and you probably would have missed it if it weren’t for your stomach interrupting with aches and growls. They were hard to ignore while the building was both airless and hot, the stale smell of neglect lingering in your workspace. You were unable to run any sort of cooling unit, as the power was shut off to most of the floors, so the hunger tearing at your insides provided an incentive to take your lunch outdoors, where you could breathe in the fresh air.

After jogging down the stairwell, floor by floor, you were winded as you stepped foot outside, but you were glad to be there taking in the light breeze. Your hopes of eating in peace and quiet were quickly dashed, however, by the sight of your competitor sitting on the sidewalk, hunched over a small canteen.

A chortle threatened to rise from your throat as you beheld the canteen’s contents. It looked to be some sort of chowder, no doubt a lunch that would need to be warmed in a microwave. The substandard insulation on his worn canteen wouldn’t be able to retain enough heat to keep the soup warm into early afternoon. It looked distasteful, based on Yoongi’s sour expression.

“How’s lunch?” you asked, smiling in triumph. “Nice and warm?”

“It would have been if someone had wired the breakroom,” he remarked in an unamused tone. “What did you bring?”

“A salad.”

You took a seat next to him along the sidewalk and unzipped your lunchbox, pulling out a container of fresh greens and popping open a small cap of dressing. Yoongi watched you in judgment as you prepared your salad, letting the drizzle of sweetness cascade over the leaves.

“Are you actually going to eat that?”

The first bite entered your mouth and you chewed it happily. “Yep, it’s raspberry vinaigrette.”

“It looks like pink jizz.”

“This pink jizz tastes  _amazing_ ,” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes into the back of your head to exaggerate how delicious it was. To be honest, the dressing was a new brand that was on sale and it was passable at best, nothing to write home about. But at that moment, your primary aim was annoying Yoongi, so you were prepared to sing the dressing’s praises all afternoon.

He shook his head to dismiss your endorsement and tried to fish a spoonful of potatoes from his canteen. The soup must have been congealed for it to be so difficult a task to complete. If the concoction had been warm and delicious, Yoongi would have rubbed it in your face. He stabbed inside of the container with his metal spoon, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration.

“Are those cold potatoes upsetting your morale?” you teased, taking in another mouthful of salad. “You look sour.”

Yoongi nodded at your tease before cracking a wide grin in reply. “Really hope you’re loving those stairs, ___. I won’t be repairing the elevator today. There’s too much work to do in the reception area.”

You ignored the disappointment stirring in your sore legs, preparing yourself to work long days with no reprieve. “No worries, I don’t mind using the stairs.”

* * *

 

The following day, you made sure to bring another salad just to spite Yoongi. You figured he would have wised up and packed a sandwich, but he had another canteen of cold soup and a sullen expression when you saw him at lunchtime on the sidewalk.

“Are you seriously not going to wire the breakroom?” he asked, shoving his spoon into the canteen as if it owed him money. “We’re here working overtime and you’re not even thinking about it?”

The sound of his vexation made you smile in satisfaction, and you didn’t see a need to hide it from him.

“Well,” you began, stirring your salad leaves, “it was either that or the bathrooms. I chose the ladies’ room first.”

He looked up from his lunch with disdain, his eyes searching for the best way to insult your choice. “The plumbing worked already. You don’t need lights in there right now. The microwave–”

“But what if I wanted to powder my nose?”

“If you want to be treated like an equal, you should have wired the breakroom so we could have used it. That suits both of us. The ladies’ room only suits you.”

“The elevator suits both of us too,” you countered. “You started this with me yesterday and you’ve given me no reason to be fair. Why don’t you just do your floors your way, and I’ll do mine my way?”

“Because we’re working doubles now and it’s not just my lunch that’s cold. It’s dinner too.”

You shrugged your shoulders and pierced a stack of salad leaves. “I guess you should have thought about that before saying I was no better than a toaster repair tech.”

“If you’re still on the same floor as yesterday, you are no better,” he fired back. “I’ve got two floors done already.”

“I’m–” You realized in the midst of arguing that you hadn’t completed nearly that much. The rooms you were rewiring were to become offices with lots of cubicles; it was monotonous boredom in silence for hours, which is why you temporarily moved to the bathrooms. “I’m getting there, okay?”

“Uh-huh,” Yoongi hummed, unconvinced. “I’d offer to help you catch up, but I can’t summon my inner desire for teamwork with cold meals.”

He closed his lunch and walked away, leaving you to sit alone on the concrete to contemplate what he said. What if he finished first and then sat off on the sidelines, making asshole remarks? You couldn’t work like that and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of finishing first so he could rub it in your face.

No, you had to come up with some sort of solution. You needed to finish the job as soon as possible so you could move on to other contracts where Yoongi wouldn’t be present. The sooner the building was complete, the sooner you could get paid, and that was more important than whatever rivalry you had.

* * *

 

The next day, you could think of nothing but the inoperable elevator. Yoongi himself had been using the stairs to move up one or two floors at a time, but he wasn’t having to climb nearly as many as you were. Your thighs were aching from the strenuous relocation of wiring and tools floor to floor. The soreness made you regret being so quick to threaten the microwave. Being hot-tempered was something you accepted about yourself, but there were times you wish you had thought through the consequences. Concerns for the newfound swelling in your knees made this job one of those times.

By mid-morning, you were brainstorming ways to persuade Yoongi to fix the elevator. He didn’t comment when he saw you leave the building just before lunchtime, but he did look confused when you returned with two white paper bags in hand.

“What’s this?” His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he took the bag you offered him. “Is it poison?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it already.”

“Fair enough,” he accepted, opening the bag to pull out a large sandwich, wrapped in more white paper. “Where did you get this from? Nothing’s labeled.”

You took a seat next to him on the sidewalk and opened your sandwich, a three-meat stack of heaven between freshly baked bread, hot out of the oven. The cheese was still melting and the aroma of deli mustard made your stomach lurch. Yoongi’s inquiry about its origin was far less important to you than taking the first bite.

Yoongi refrained from eating, but he watched you intently, waiting for you to answer him.

“Are you always this suspicious when people buy you lunch? It’s a peace offering,” you explained, your cheeks full of sandwich.

“You mean a bribe to get the elevator done,” he corrected. He unwrapped his sandwich and lifted the top piece of bread to examine the condiments. “Is that Dijon?”

“Yes. You can’t put yellow mustard on a sandwich of that magnitude. It’s blasphemous.”

Yoongi grasped the sandwich between his hands and took the first bite, chewing with intermittent pauses as if the sandwich might bite back. After a few moments of eating in silence, his face softened as he swallowed down the contents and returned for another taste.

“I still can’t get the elevator done,” he confessed, rotating the sandwich to partake in an untouched corner of it.

Your heart sank into your stomach. “Why?”

“Because it needs a new breaker and Murphy didn’t plan for that in the initial supply run. I think the customer should buy a new button panel too since we’re already redoing so much. The old one looks like shit.”

“Oh,” you replied, feeling your plans start to wilt. “Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I don’t like taking the stairs any more than you do. I figured you would have caved already.”

“I did. You’re eating it.”

He chuckled and took another bite. “What about the break room? Did you forget about it?”

“I ran into some issues on the eighth floor with the lights and I couldn’t get to it in time for lunch today,” you explained. “But I’ll get started on it this afternoon. I’ll probably be here through dinner from the looks of it.”

“Do you need a hand?”

The bite of sandwich you had been consuming grew dry in your mouth. “What?”

“Do-you-need-a-hand?” Yoongi stressed each word with a bob of his head. “That’s why you’re feeding me, right? Because you need help?”

“I was hoping for that elevator.”

“Well,”—he checked his phone—“you got about three hours of time that I can spend helping you or I can go home. Your choice.”

You weren’t exactly trusting of Yoongi’s offer. He seemed less confrontational after eating the sandwich you bought him, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he had repeatedly gone out of his way to make work harder for you.

“Are you going to be a dick about it, or are you actually going to help me?”

He grinned before finishing off the last corner of his sandwich. “Are you always this suspicious when people offer to help you?”

“Yes,” you remarked bluntly, standing to your feet. “I’ll be on the ninth floor. I could use the help.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.”

* * *

 

Yoongi arrived on the ninth floor with a box of tools in hand. He was out of breath, dark strands of hair sticking to his damp forehead.

“Aaand I made it,” he greeted, heaving a sigh and setting his toolbox on the floor with a hard thud.

The corners of your lips perked up upon seeing how disheveled he looked. “You’re just in time to rewire the floor outlets.”

He pursed his lips together, mulling over whether to protest you leaving him with a task that would cause sore knees. “Alright then. Do you mind if I play music in here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You have a battery-powered one?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “It helps me concentrate.”

“Sure, as long as it’s not super loud. It’s not country, is it?”

“God no,” he recoiled. “It’s classical.”

Laughter erupted from your belly before you could stop it. You had never pegged Min Yoongi to be the type. “Is that what you were listening to back in trade school?”

He knelt down on the floor and began to uncoil a bundle of wire. “That’s pretty much all I listen to when I’m working.”

“I never knew that about you,” you commented, amused by the discovery.

“That’s because you never paired up with me in class.”

“You never paired up with anyone, remember?” you smarted off, slipping back into the sarcasm that made you comfortable. “You always looked like you didn’t want to be there. You were an anti-social emo kid back then, always with your headphones in.”

You pointed to your ears to simulate him tuning out the world. Yoongi narrowed his eyes at you, displeased by the illustration, then started tapping the end of his screwdriver against his work boot.

“Besides,” you continued, feeling heat of potential victory creep up your neck, “it’s not like you wanted to pair with me anyway. You don’t think I’m a good electrician. We would have torn each other to shreds and then Professor Thomas would have failed us.”

He lifted his chin up and scoffed. “No, you probably would have gotten a higher grade in there.”

Your hands shook at his words. “That’s bullshit!”

“Please, you were so focused on that pretty meathead Bryce, you fried how many boards?” he snickered, reclining against his hands. “I think we would have paired up just fine. I don’t get distracted. I get the job done.”

Yoongi looked like a proud peacock and you felt your blood boil under your skin. “You know what,” you countered, angrily unraveling a spool of wire. “I think you had a crush on me in school, and you were jealous I wasn’t paying you any attention. The only reason you’re probably here is because you want to check out my ass after all those stairs.” You twisted your waist in his direction and patted the side of it tauntingly with your palm.

His eyes cast down to the round curve on display for him, then back up to your face. “Nope,” he replied, clearing his throat to even his tone. “The only reason I’m here is because if I help you, you might tell me where that sandwich came from.”

“Seriously? A fucking sandwich?”

“Yeah, they’re delicious. They don’t talk back. They don’t steal tools.”

You clenched your jaw and pointed. “I haven’t stolen anything.”

He laughed aloud, shaking his head. “Not yet, but we’re on the same floor now and your wire-stripper looks like it’s been in a wood chipper. It’s embarrassing to the profession.” He pulled his out from the toolbox and waved it in his hand. Your eyes caught the gleam of the pristine handle and you bit your tongue in jealousy. 

“ _This_  is a wire-stripper, ___. It’s clean. Its edges are sharp. It’s four times as expensive as yours. I’m guessing it’s also why I’ve finished more floors than you.”

You were lightheaded with resentment. He was right, and you didn’t have a counterargument prepared to fire back at him. Exhaling a sharp breath in frustration, you glared at him as he smiled with pride and turned his radio dial, filling the room with the soft melody of an orchestra.

* * *

 

The next day you mentally prepared a few barbs in case Yoongi decided to provoke you. Much to your surprise, however, he arrived in a more cooperative mood.

“I’m tired of taking the stairs and the rest of the supplies came in finally,” he said. “Mind if I leave you here to finish these conference rooms while I install the new panel in the elevator?”

“Why are you asking me?” You couldn’t exactly mask your surprise when you both had spent most of your interactions arguing or trying to show up the other person.

“Well, I wanted you to know where I was in case you feel like buying me another sandwich.” He punctuated the comment with a wink and you rolled your eyes at him.

“I’m not buying you shit unless you leave your wire-strippers here.”

“Oh? You’re willing to bargain with me today?”

“All the conference rooms’ have to be wired for audiovisual equipment, so yeah,” you answered honestly. “Leave them and I’ll get you one.”

He nodded as he considered your offer, then opened his toolbox and pulled the pliers from it. Taking a few steps in your direction, he lowered his voice as he raised the tool in his hand. “Are you going to take care of my baby?”

“They’re pliers.”

“Shh…they’re not just pliers,” he continued, his voice as smooth as silk. “They’re a man’s most treasured tool.”

You mocked his statement. “I thought a dick was a man’s most treasured tool.”

He stood a foot away from you, the corners of his lips outstretched in a knowing grin. “You wiggled your ass at me yesterday and now you’re talking about my dick. Tsk, who had the crush on who again?”

Yoongi’s enjoyment made the warmth of embarrassment bloom across your cheeks. “Fucker,” you muttered under your breath, taking the tool from him and turning away, hoping he would leave you in peace.

“Mmm—and vulgar too,” he grunted, encasing his voice in hunger.

Your face couldn’t withstand any more heat. Buzzing sensations clouded your mind as he left the conference room. Once he was gone, you felt relieved you hadn’t continued to argue and give him more ammunition to torment you. He was clearly better at getting a rise out of you than the other way around, and that realization irritated you to no end. Squeezing the wire-strippers in your hand, you wished you didn’t want to use them so badly.

* * *

 

You were coming back inside from a break when you heard the chime of the elevator ding. The doors of the elevator opened to reveal Yoongi, who was holding a clipboard and was murmuring to himself.

“Elevator’s working,” he commented, not looking up from his clipboard. The elevator doors began to close and he pushed another button, forcing them to open again. “I need to run some tests with this panel though, since it’s new. Gotta make sure all the functions work.”

Walking closer to the elevator, you quipped, “You just want to get paid to ride the elevator.”

He lowered the clipboard and narrowed his eyes. “You do know that half the time these panels are refurbished and don’t fully work, right? Have you ever installed one?”

“I don’t do elevators, so no, I wouldn’t know. Not all panels are the same.”

“Broken ones are,” he argued with a mocking tone. “Look, you’re welcome to join me and get paid to ride the elevator too instead of being a spiteful bitch about it.” 

“Spiteful bitch, really?”

“Yeah,” he stressed in annoyance. “This would have been done sooner if you had fixed the microwave like a decent human being.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I liked watching you suffer.”

Yoongi scoffed, “Cold soup is hardly suffering. I still ate it.”

“You pouted like a little boy who dropped his ice cream cone.” You jumped and raised your arms to hold the elevator door open as it tried to close again.

“So, are you coming? Or are you just gonna stand there?” he pressed with wide eyes.

“Fine,” you whined, stepping over the threshold. “I guess if you need help to push some buttons.”

He groaned under his breath and made a sharp scratch on the notes of the clipboard.

The doors of the elevator closed with a ding and rose to the second floor. Yoongi stopped, allowed the doors to open, then pressed the close button to bring the doors back together.  You leaned against the back wall of the elevator, waiting to return to the upper floors you had been working on, but it was a drag. By the time you made it to the fourth floor, your patience began to wane.

“Are you seriously going to press all the functions for every floor?”

“Yes,” he replied in a clipped tone. “That’s what testing means.”

“Can’t you just drop me off first? This is taking forever.”

“Stop whining,” Yoongi scolded, making another note on the clipboard. “You sound like you need to get dicked down. It’s depressing.”

You tilted your head in rebuttal. “I would be getting laid if I wasn’t spending all these extra hours with you! It’s bad enough working doubles with you having something smart to say every ten minutes.”

He lowered his notes and glared. “Oh, I’m sorry you filled your dance card with work. You didn’t have to work late. You  _volunteered_ , and now you’re bitchier than ever.” Yoongi lifted the clipboard up, then plopped it against his thigh as a new insult surfaced in his mind. “I wish you  _were_ getting laid so you wouldn’t be so grouchy about sharing a job with me. Maybe if Bryce was here, you'd be getting some like you were back in circuits class.”

“That was one time!” you shouted, your chest lifting off the elevator wall in anger.

Laughter filled the small space as Yoongi pressed his fingertip to the panel, moving to the next floor. “Not the way he told it. He said you were hungry for it. All. The. Time.”

You frowned and crossed your arms, feeling exposed by the accusation. “He's a liar, and he wasn't even a good fuck,” you argued. After Yoongi looked at you with a blank expression like he wasn’t buying it, you went for the only angle you could think of. “Why do you care? Jealous much?”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips stretched into an overconfident expression. “Nah, if I wanted you, I could have you. You're so riled up right now from walking all those stairs and running on salads all week, it would be easy.”

His eyes focused on your face and your chest tightened under his gaze. You didn’t want to admit that he was probably right. He was attractive and the years since trade school had been kind to him. He could have made an attempt, at least back in school, if he hadn’t been such an elitist prick about everything.  _I probably would have_ , you confessed to yourself. Yoongi’s brand of confidence was usually what you went for, but it still didn’t negate the fact he had been an asshole during most of your interactions.

“I'm not as desperate as you think I am,” you retorted, pointing to your chest to solidify your defense. “You want me, or you wouldn’t have brought Bryce up again.”

Yoongi smirked again and you felt more unsettled sharing the same space with him. Or at least, you thought you were unsettled. Was this feeling unease? Anger? Arousal?

“I’d like to fuck you so you'd be too tired to talk anymore, to be honest, but I don't want a stage-five clinger,” he admitted.

Your jaw dropped at his confession and you went barreling into another raised-toned rebuttal. “You think I can't have a sport-fuck and ignore your ass after that? Ha!”

Yoongi huffed and you saw the tip of his tongue trace from the inside of his cheek to the corner of his lips. He said nothing, but his eyes told quite a lot, for they were shifting from your face to your body, back to your face, back to your body. He was deliberating on whether to press the argument further, but he was hesitating.

Triumph filled your chest and you stuck it out for his view. He was crumbling, so you delivered the final blow to his argument by stepping toward the panel and hitting the elevator’s brakes.

Yoongi’s woodsy, fresh scent was stronger in the enclosed space, but you didn’t let his aroma cloud your words. “Come on, then,” you taunted in a low tone, moving closer to him. “You’ve talked a big game all week and I think you’re full of shit. A man with no follow-through.”

His voice quieted to match your level, but it was laden with indignation. “You think I’m full of shit, huh?”

“Yeah, a steaming pile of it.”

“Hm,” Yoongi hummed, his gaze falling to your lips as he takes a step closer to you, the space between your bodies merely inches. “You’d complain to Murph and get me kicked off the contract.”

It was at that moment you realized your and Yoongi’s game of cat-and-mouse had ventured past the point of no return. If you were to leave the elevator now, the tension between you would remain and distract you both. You were frustrated and bored, driven to a level of fuck-all whereby Yoongi offered the only source of entertainment. And he was confident—so confident you wanted to test the waters to see if he too wouldn’t be able to hold up against his boasts. Yes, breaking him of his self-esteem would give you the satisfaction and confidence to move forward with the contract and be completely immune to him. There was no way someone of his stature was going to wreck you enough to brag about it. No one would believe him.

But there was the dilemma of you making a complaint. Yoongi would never initiate when he felt you could turn him in. You looked down and saw a bulge starting to form in the confines of his work pants and it made you prideful enough to assume the risk instead. Lowering your hand to palm his growing length, you seized your opportunity. The warm appendage throbbed, knocking against your touch and Yoongi cleared his throat—but refused to back away from you.

“There,” you murmured, offering him a squeeze to assure him. “Now, are you gonna put up or shut up?”

The clipboard fell to the floor with a hard clunk and Yoongi pressed his palm to your shoulder with enough force to back you against the wall. The moment your head rapped against the paneling, a wicked smile stretched over your face as he clawed at your shirt, desperate to tear into you as soon as possible.

Your amusement came to a halt the moment Yoongi plunged his hand into the front of your pants, the pads of his fingertips barreling past your panties like an intruder to press roughly against your clit. Your jaw fell in alarm as his touch compelled you to frantically rewrite your preconceived notions of him. The sensation was sharp, but the efficiency with which he sought his target summoned the first flood of arousal and you hated yourself for how your body betrayed you.

“What kind of woman gets wet from bitching all day?” he rasped, encircling his fingers until a groan squeezed from behind your teeth. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

The man had spent years working with his hands, a critical component you failed to consider when you were sizing him up. Now that he was touching you, all you could think of was how the prominent veins tracing along his hand were rippling as his heart pumped blood to his fingers, your teasing tormentors. The gleam in his eye was nothing less than sinister, but you weren’t about to feed his ego from one flick of his finger.

Your hand grabbed his forearm to redirect his efforts. “Why are you wasting time with prep? This isn’t a date.”

“I was trying to be considerate of your weaker sex,” he cooed, grazing his fingers against your folds in a mischievous manner.

Your palm ricocheted off the side of his face with a swift blow, causing Yoongi to grunt from the sting and drag his tongue against the corner of his lower lip.

“I’m not weak,” you spat through gritted teeth, grinding against his touch. “Now, deliver on your end of the fuck, if you’re man enough.”

A cocky grin spread across his features and he withdrew his hand, moving to unbuckle his pants. “I’m going to rip you apart.”

“Do it, then.”

Rushing quickly to discard your clothes and shoes, you scrambled to free yourself from the outer barriers which would impede him from his task. He mirrored your movements, frantically tossing his shirt aside to reveal a smooth expanse of chest. Upon seeing how untouched his skin looked, you resented how good the years had been to him; there were no scratches or bruises to be found. You suspected that would change soon, as you were committed to holding up your end of the encounter as well. The shirt which he had tried to remove previously was the last to fly over your head. The moment the clothes were free from your body, leaving you standing in your bra and panties, you saw the hunger in your competitor. Yoongi was impatiently stroking his shaft, his dark eyes fixated on the wet patch between your legs.

“Take them off,” he urged, losing patience.

“Make me,” you sassed, tilting your head upward to better stare him down.

He heaved a sigh of frustration and released his dick, now fully hard and in need of attention. Your eyes watched it bob against his abdomen for a moment and then Yoongi weaved his fingers into the side of your panties. With a sharp shear of his hand, he tore the last barrier between you. It was a motion so fast that it barely registered in your mind before his fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, pulling your leg around his waist. The frayed remnants of your panties pooled pathetically around your ankle.

 _God, I’m going to fuck him_ , you realized, before the brutal intrusion of his dick forced your thoughts to return to the present. His body pressed against yours and you instinctively threw your arms around his neck to hang on. It stung like pins and needles, feeling the unapologetic stretch of his efforts as he withdrew and pushed further inside your heat with an intense jolt. His grunts and panting breaths heated the skin along your neck, and you could feel the erratic anger in every shove of his hips against yours, like a hammer driving in a stubborn nail.

After a few moments wading through the pain of his piston-like fury, you started to feel tightening in your abdomen. Yoongi’s dick, while not the largest you’d housed, knew where to hit and how, and it was that acute precision that summoned the first moan from your lungs.

As soon as he heard it, he smiled, looking smug like this was the only outcome he had expected. He pulled his hips back and hit your battered flesh again, making you recreate the sound a second time. Then, without invitation, he placed his hand over your mouth, muffling your voice.

Groaning in satisfaction, he praised, “Listen to that pussy.”

The warmth of his hand across your lips was overpowered by the searing heat of his thrusts, lodging his cock deep inside your walls with enough force to make your back skid up the paneling on the wall. Your core clenched at the sounds of wet smatterings bouncing off in quick succession. To know Yoongi was getting off on the echoes of your romp in the elevator was more arousing than you anticipated.

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head as you exhaled a soft murmur of pleasure against his palm. The free hands which had braced around his neck stiffened as you dug your nails into his flesh, dragging them until he winced. Yoongi’s cock continued its onslaught while he returned your cruel touch with a deep bite to your neck, right at your pulse point. When you groaned in response, the hand which had obstructed your noises fell to pull down one of your bra cups and ravish your breast. Another moan slipped between your lips, followed by the sound of his smacking hips, each a melody bouncing off the walls of the small elevator.

Yoongi traced his nose along the shell of your ear and whispered, “Did Bryce fuck you this hard?”

Another shove of his hips made you stammer in your response. “N-no. He was too-fucking-soft.”

“Oh?” he cooed, setting goosebumps alight down your neck. “That’s a pity.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, trailing your fingers down his bare chest. “Weak with his hands, what a waste.”

Yoongi’s hips slowed and he pierced your eyes with his own. “Did he make you come?”

“No.”

He nodded gradually, finally able to understand why the subject of Bryce had been a sore one for you. He withdrew from you and licked the corners of his mouth, moistening his lips. You raised an eyebrow in confusion, unsure why he felt the need to stop a good thing, but when his hand returned between your legs, you knew exactly why.

“I’m gonna make you come all over my fingers,” he stated, pressing his digits to your swollen bud, “and then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

Yoongi plunged his fingers past your folds with a ferocity that made your jaw drop in a silent scream. You leaned forward to brace against him, but he pushed you back with his free hand, anchoring you against the elevator wall with his forearm. His fingertips quickly reclaimed the rough patch inside your walls and you felt the air inside your lungs escape as he pressed and rubbed, pressed and rubbed, tormenting you until spots speckled your vision.

When his thumb returned to grace your clit with much-needed pressure, you began to whimper, biting your lip to mask the intense pleasure he was administering. You knew he was already aware of it, however, as his eyes bored into yours and he flashed a knowing smirk. He was so close to breaking through your defenses that your throat ran dry, your body entranced by the spell of his undulating fingertips.

Yoongi breathed heavily as the lewd sounds of your arousal squelching under his control filled the elevator. He stepped closer, pressing his aching appendage against your hip. Your pelvis rocked harder against his hand and he dragged his thumb back-and-forth over your clitoral hood like he was deliberating how far to take you. You moaned and closed your eyes, trying to focus on the end goal—savoring the first climax.

As your body ascended toward the highest plane of pleasure, you felt the brush of a wet muscle gliding along your neck—Yoongi’s tongue. You had never shared how sensitive it was, as your favored erogenous zone, but he discovered that when your mewling dropped in tone and your voice began to quake.

“Mm, Yoongi,” you whimpered, your legs trembling. You were so close now, on the verge of breaking at any moment. Your hands scattered to brace against the wall behind you but there was nothing to hang onto, only a flat, bland surface to rattle against.

His tongue laved against your pulse point as his thumb picked up its pace. “That’s right, you filthy slut,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning your neck. “Tell me how bad you wanna come.”

No coherent response could form in your mind before the surge of ecstasy funneled through your body and flooded his fingers. Profanities fell from your lips in sputtering pants as you rolled your core against him, riding his hand without any regard for how desperate it appeared.

Yoongi groaned in approval as he planted three soft kisses beneath your ear—then he did the last thing you expected and delivered a swift smack against your swollen folds. The blow made you yelp like a small animal with a fresh wound and your eyes became awash with water.

“Ah, fuck,” you whined, blinking back your tears. The heat from the smack radiated throughout your mound, further carrying the waves of your recent orgasm. Your core throbbed at the pain. You wanted more of it.

“That better for you, bitch?” he growled, peering into your eyes with blown pupils. His palm returned to stroke your sex, gently coaxing your lower lips to part and ease the sting.

You nodded your head, licking your lips as your high subsided. It felt like waking from a wonderful dream, one so good you could cry.

“Say it,” he commanded, an air of pride in his voice.

Your response threaded through gritted teeth. “Yes.”

He chuckled, rapidly flicking his fingertip to toy with your sensitive nub.

Grinding against him to still his hand, you grumbled, “I hate you.”

“You wish you did.”

Taking your shoulder in his hand, he flipped you over until your body pressed against the cold paneling of the wall. Your stomach tickled against the chill, and the goosebumps spread over your back as Yoongi’s hands raked over your ass like he was surveying it.

Instinctively, your palms found purchase against the hard surface and you jutted your hips out, tempting him to make the next move, your soft flesh pressed against his rigid dick.

He emitted a groan as he aligned himself at your entrance and braced his hands on your waist. His fingertips dug into your skin without remorse as he delivered the first hard shove of his hips against yours. The pain of his plunging cockhead was less intense this time, the stretch a welcomed return. Yoongi relished in the reconnection of your bodies as his hands wandered to knead your ass once more. You panted against the wall, your body like putty in his capable clutches. That is–until he landed a harsh spank against the upside of your right cheek. The pop of his hand stung as much as his earlier slap against your sex, but you welcomed it with a soft moan in praise.

He answered your mewling with more spanks, over and over until your skin burned. Then he thrust inside of you so deep your elbows buckled against the wall, your arms quickly adjusting to sustain the blows you knew would continue. Yoongi’s pace was peppered with such thrusts, intense enough to make you feel as though he wasn’t someone you fucked, but someone you survived. The cacophony of skin smacking against skin echoed throughout the elevator, and with each blow, you whined behind clenched teeth as drool pooled on your tongue.

“That hard enough for you?” he taunted, battering your swollen folds with increasing speed.

“Y-yeah,” you responded in a shaky voice. As much as you wanted him to fail at everything, a part of you felt relieved your time in the elevator hadn’t been a complete waste. If Yoongi exorcizing his disapproval of your electrician skills meant having your g-spot pounded until you were cross-eyed, you could set aside your mutual loathing long enough to get off. You owed yourself that much after your hard work putting up with his comments.

Yoongi slowed his movements and adjusted his rhythm to lean forward, nearly flush against your back. He pinched the clasp holding your bra in place and you shook your shoulders to be rid of it. His fingertips brushed up the sides of your ribs to fully cup both your breasts, willing your nipples to harden against his palms. Timing his thrusts to complement each squeeze of his hands, he propelled you further into pleasure. You reached behind your head to card your fingertips into his dark strands of hair, tugging at their roots until his low groans floated from his throat. When he kissed the slope of your neck, you tilted your head to offer him a little more, reminding yourself that you were simply using each other. You could forgive yourself later, no matter how good it felt right now.

“This is what you could have had,” he whispered, “if you had looked past that first impression of me with the headphones in.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” you warned, pulling his hair again.

The low timbre of his voice crept into your ear. “Have you regretted it yet?”

You were tempted to lie and say “yes,” but a nuzzle of his nose against your hair made you falter. It was the smallest shred of vulnerability and you almost missed it. Even Yoongi, a man who prided himself on being the solution to every problem, was in search of validation, some confirmation he wasn’t completely repellent. The truth was that he wasn’t. In fact, he had been far more considerate of your pleasure than you had expected, a trait that put him leagues ahead of your past lovers.

“I haven’t regretted anything,” you admitted, to him and yourself. “Especially your hands.”

“Is that right?”

You could hear the smile in his response. He jerked his hips with renewed vigor, bouncing your body up and down as your jaw fell loose and your core clenched around him. The rough tips of his fingers inched back between your legs and he gave your clit a pinch. He knew how to play with the perfect mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips sputtered and writhed as they failed to decide which nerve endings to yield to: the sensitive pearl being swirled by his fingertips, or the insatiable spot in your walls being knocked like a metronome by his throbbing cock.

“Yoongi,” you pleaded. “More, harder please!”

Your fingernails clawed the hard surface of the elevator wall as his grip tightened around your waist. He meant to hold you as still as possible while he fucked you; he wanted your body to remain immobile to better absorb the wrath of his sordid efforts.

A curl in your belly coiled itself once more, making your face contort in pleasure. You were close to coming a second time, and that became your focus as Yoongi continued to ram you hard against the wall. You moved your hands in front of you to better withstand the end which was barreling in your direction.

Sharp inhales of breath sounded behind you and you turned your head to witness what was taking place. Yoongi’s face and neck were now lacquered with sweat, a thin sheet illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the elevator. He was beautiful to behold, his lower lip trapped between his teeth, his forehead creased in concentration.

When the deep pools of his eyes saw you glancing at him, witnessing his distress, he lowered his eyelids and pulled his hand back, away from your clit. You wilted at the loss until you saw him lift that same hand close to his face, popping his first two fingers in his mouth. His soft lips wrapped around the digits as he sucked, and the sight of him tasting you when he was so close to orgasm made you ache for release.

“Don’t stop,” you urged, “I’m so close. Touch me again and I promise I’ll soak your cock.”

The pacing of his thrusts stilted upon hearing your desperate plea. His lips whistled as his fingers popped from his mouth. “Where can I come?”

“Anywhere, just fuck me.”

Yoongi thrust hard at that, groaning as though time was about to run out. His next question flew from his mouth twice as quickly.

“Can I come inside you?”

“Yes,” you rasped, taking his hand from your waist and returning it to its rightful place between your legs. “Now, make it hurt.”

Yoongi scoffed and swatted your vulva with a swift pop. “You really don’t want to walk out of here?” His fingertips rejoined your clit with a roughness that made the room spin.

“No,” you answered, gripping the wall to steady your shaking legs. “I don’t.”

“You want me to use you?”

A wicked smile spread across your face. “Yes!”

His hand strummed rapidly as he leaned close to your ear, his tone low like you were keeping a dirty secret. “I want to hear you moan like a whore while I use you up, then. We’re way past fucking like civil creatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded repeatedly, mumbling profanities and praises as his fingers twisted into your folds and dragged against your most eager nerve endings, rotating tight circles with a precision so delicious your tongue fell to taste it.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your searing cheek pressing against the wall to cool your face. “Use me, use me, use— _fuck_!”

“That’s right, you cock slut,” he growled, driving his hips harder into yours.

He repositioned his feet to widen his stance and anchored his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh enough to bruise it. His cock rammed your walls repeatedly until the smacking of flesh upon flesh was the only sound you could hear. Your throat grew dry from the feeling, the ache eclipsed by the conflagration of pleasure erupting in your core. Your walls clenched in erratic spasms as your ears filled with buzzing. The arms which you had employed to keep you upright were growing weak and gelatinous under the toil, but you squared your shoulders to keep from collapsing as Yoongi jackhammered into your welcoming heat like a ferocious beast.

His hips sputtered their last as he released a low sound that was a blend of anger, elation, and relief. Your body eased along with his as you let him milk his shaft dry, then you straightened your back to return to standing fully upright. As you moved, your cheeks burned with the understanding of what you had done, and you suddenly didn’t want to turn around.

Your body was too tired to tense up, too worn to scramble back into the clothes you had tossed on the floor. You knew in a few moments the relief of your climax would wither away and you’d feel naked again. More than anything, you wanted to enjoy the feeling a little longer.

It was then you felt the light brush of his hand against your back. It was reassuring, more than you would ever admit to him. You didn’t recoil when he moved close behind your back and pressed two kisses to your right shoulder. It felt natural–and that scared you, so you cleared your throat to break the silence and turned to face him.

“Mind handing me my shirt?” you asked.

Yoongi nodded and bent down to grab your clothes. For the first time, he didn’t have a remark to fire back with. He simply dressed in silence, turning his back as you dressed yourself.

“I think the elevator works,” you commented, trying to ease the awkward feeling that started to take root.

He chuckled and your chest lightened at the sound. “Yep,” he agreed, “I guess you could say that.” He pressed his finger against the button for the ground floor and you ignored the low knock below your waist as you watched him do it.

The doors opened at the ground floor with a ding and you exited with Yoongi close behind you. You wanted to get to a bathroom on the first floor so you could freshen up, but your legs were wobbling so much you were moving at half your speed. When he didn’t follow you through the hall to head back to the elevator’s breaker box, you stopped.

“Where are you going? Maintenance room is that way.” You pointed back in the opposite direction.

“I need a smoke.” The corners of his lips perked up as his eyes glanced at your legs.

You couldn’t contain yourself. “That good for you, huh?”

He tilted his head and served a knowing look. “I think you know the answer to that.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he added, “Do you need help getting to the bathroom?”

“I’ve been fucked before, thanks,” you replied. “I’ll be fine. I might join you outside in a minute.”

“Alright.” He turned and headed out, leaving you to waddle to the ladies’ room with his cum dripping down your leg.

When you joined him outside, you found him sitting on the sidewalk, his back leaning against the wall of the building in the shade. His eyes were closed like he was resting; it was evident by the way he was breathing that he was worn out as well.

He opened his eyes as you sat next to him, then patted his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you smoke?”

“After sex, yes,” you answered, taking one from his pack. He flicked open an antiqued silver lighter and summoned a small flame. As you inhaled, you caught Yoongi staring at your lips. “You thinking about me sucking your dick, big boy?”

“You offering?” he retorted, lighting his own cigarette.

“No, you haven’t earned that.”

Yoongi rested his head against the wall as he released the first billowing pillar of smoke. “I didn’t think you would.”

You and he sat in the shade, alternating puffs in silence for several moments. You supposed you liked that about him; he knew when not to talk as much as he knew when he could get on your nerves. Crediting your relaxed feeling to the cigarette seemed safer than admitting that Yoongi had a calming presence too, at least when he tried.

“I owe you an apology, for what I said earlier.” Yoongi’s statement broke the silence and you were too stunned by his words to respond right away.

He continued, rubbing his forehead like he was already regretting saying anything. “You’re a good electrician. I just give you hell because I don’t like competition.”

You nodded. It was fair to say you didn’t like competition either; it drove down the price of repairs. “I’m not interested in competing with you, only making ends meet. I have to stay in the black too.” Another release of smoke flew above you. “Kind of hard with you taking my jobs.”

“You have a job lined up after this one?”

Unfortunately, you hadn’t negotiated additional jobs because you thought the present contract would keep you afloat for longer. You hadn’t anticipated sharing it with Yoongi.

“Not yet,” you murmured, taking another draw.

Yoongi flicked a bit of ash onto the sidewalk next to him. “I have one after this one. It’s not as nice of a job, but it’s updating wiring also. It’s a small non-profit and they tried updating a couple months ago, but a lot of their wiring was stolen because the last contractor didn’t lock up. Anyways, one of their benefactors has more money than sense, so the job is back on now. It’s going to start late because of this job, but it’s there if you want to join.”

“I don’t want to work for you.”

“I’m not hiring,” he clarified with a shake of his head. “I’m offering to share a job because I could use the help. I have to bring on at least one more electrician to meet the deadline now. It’d be easier to split it, honestly, like we’re doing here.”

Now you were interested in his offer. “Can I set my own schedule?” you asked.

“Mhm.” He took in another puff of smoke, smiling because he had given the answer he would have preferred as well. Most electricians wanted to set their own schedule so they could take on additional jobs.

“Will you give me a set of keys so I can come and go?”

“Yeah, as long as you tell me when you’re on-site. It’s my ass on the line if something goes wrong.”

The offer sounded pretty fair, all things considered. You weren’t likely to have a job lined up right away after this one anyway, and Yoongi’s job sounded simple enough. You had already tested working together and admittedly, it had gone better than you planned.

“I’ll think about it.”

Yoongi appeared satisfied by that answer, nodding as he blew his last puff of smoke before smearing the cigarette against the pavement.

“So,” he cocked his head, flashing a grin, “where’s the sandwich from?”

* * *

 

_Copyright © 2018 by jeonjagiya. All rights reserved._

 


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